Without Him
by ShegoRulz
Summary: An AVPM AU of what life would be like for both Voldemort and Quirrell if Voldemort hadn't returned to Azkaban. Quirrellmort / Quirrelmort, rated T/M.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a new multi-chapter story, and it's an AU of what life would be like for both Voldemort and Quirrell if Voldemort hadn't returned to Azkaban at the end of AVPM (: I don't own these characters or the Harry Potter and Starkid franchise. Unfortunately. **

_Prologue _

_He's never been in so much pain._

It takes Voldemort what feels like a lifetime to even prop himself into a sitting position, but his achievement doesn't last long, as before he knows it he's collapsed on the ground again. Is he dead? Is he in hell? Is this what it's like to be dead and being punished for all his crimes?

He heaves and blearily moves his eyes, trying to locate his wand. There it is, discarded on the ground a few metres away. Better not try to reach for it, though. God, he's gonna hurl...

So, maybe not dead. The more he looks around, the more aware he becomes of his surroundings. Hogwarts. Right, he's on the grounds of Hogwarts. Because of the revenge plan and all that. Wait, what about Potter, then? Has the kid finally been defeated or what?

"Jeez, look at you!"

Voldemort's heart thumps as Quirrell kneels down beside him. Oh, he's missed him so much.

"See, this is what happens when you fire a spell at the same time." Quirrell lectures. He looks beautiful, as always, and Voldemort lips tug up in a tiny smile. "Read some more, will you?"

"I - I know." His voice is cracked and useless, and he heaves again at the effort of speaking.

"Do you? Honestly, Voldemort! Look at the state of you."

"Am - am I dead?"

Quirrell pauses, frowning. "No. You're in a bad state, though."

"Must be - dead." Voldemort croaks, and his eyes fill up. "You too."

"Excuse me?" Quirrell looks offended. "I think I'd know if I was dead, thanks very much."

"You're - not really here, Qu-Quirrell." Voldemort breaths out shakily. "You're - in Azkaban."

"What?" He looks stunned, which doesn't make sense, because he should know this. He's in a cell, after all.

"All my fault."

"I'm not dead. Why would you say that to me?" Quirrell suddenly stands up, glowering down at him. "Ugh. Fuck you."

"No, Quirrell, please!" Voldemort pushes himself up, aimlessly reaching out. "I'm sorry! Don't!"

"I was only trying to help, and you're telling me I'm not even real?"

"You're real, 'course - but I - you're in Azkaban!" Voldemort gags and clutches at his stomach as he's sick. His vision blurs as he shakily wipes at his mouth, coughing and groaning once he's done.

There's a pause, and then Quirrell speaks again. "Why would I be in Azkaban?"

Voldemort moans. "My fault. All my fault."

"Well, you know what you need to do now, don't you?" Quirrell asks, his voice softening. "You need to help me."

"Y-yes." He whispers, looking up at him pleadingly. "You're innocent."

"I am. Will you help me?" Quirrell now looks so thin, and his eyes are hollow and pleading. His face is gaunt, and his head is bleeding. Voldemort is almost sick again at the sudden transformation. While still beautiful, Quirrell is obviously in huge danger.

"Yes, I - "

"I might be dead, actually." Quirrell muses as he looks down at himself. His nice shirt and tie have been replaced with an Azkaban prison robe, which is torn and tattered. There are marks on his wrists. They're raw and bleeding. "I've been in there for such a long time."

"Stop, please..."

"Why would you do this to me? We're friends." Quirrell suddenly asks, his voice now as croaky as Voldemort's. "Maybe I am dead. You were right."

"No!"

"I must be. It's been so long."

"Six - six months -" Voldemort interjects. "That's- that's okay, isn't it?"

Quirrell laughs loudly, and gestures at himself. A puddle of blood is forming on the floor from his bleeding wrists and forehead. He's covered in bruises, an ugly mixture of purple and yellow across his handsome face. "Oh, Voldemort. I'll be lucky if I last one more night."

Voldemort is sick again, and he's crying, sheer panic taking over. When's the last time he's sobbed like this? "I'm sorry!"

"I'm going to have to go now." Quirrell sighs heavily. "I don't think I want your help anymore. Look at what you've done to me."

"I'll - help, I promise! I'm so sorry!" Voldemort struggles back to a sitting position. "Just - help me stand up, then I'll...I'll be able to do stuff." His sobs are choking him, and people will be able to hear him soon. But they can't know he's still alive. By all accounts, he really should be dead. He's a horrible person, the worst person alive. "Quirrell, I'm - so sorry -"

He's gone. Of course he has. He was a hallucination of his own guilt, nothing more, because the real Quirrell is stuck in a prison cell. So now what? What is Voldemort meant to do? Go to Azkaban, obviously. Right?

But no. First thing is to make sure Quirrell is set free and cleared of his charges. Then he can just let him go. He's been through so much already because of Voldemort. If he's still alive...

Voldemort covers his mouth, and begins crawling over to his wand, his stomach still heaving. He's made so much noise already, a student is bound to realise the Dark Lord isn't quite as dead as they thought. It's a mystery how he's even alive anyway. But better not dwell on that now. Just keep moving. 

_Once his wand is in his hand, Voldemort tries to figure out what to do. If Quirrell is still alive – he must be, he has to be – then he needs to be let out of Azkaban as soon as possible. The Wizarding World needs to know he's innocent. _

_And then Voldemort can leave him be once and for all. Quirrell will be glad to see the back of him.  
_

1

_"Oh, hey, did you hear? The dark lord is dead!"_

"Quirinus? Quirinus, I hope you're not planning on staying in your room all day again!"

Quirrell woke with a start, glancing around blearily, and rubbing his eyes with shaking hands. He took a moment to get his bearings - old room, at his parents' house, right - and propped himself into a sitting position. There came a knock on his door and he grimaced, lying back down again. "J-just - leave, please." He managed. Azkaban had royally fucked a lot of things up, but his speech was the real kicker. He could barely form a coherent sentence anymore.

"Quirinus?" His mother called. "You need to eat something, and maybe go outside for a bit. Come on."

For fuck's sake, wasn't he entitled to stay in bed for a while? He'd been in hell for six months, and Voldemort was dead. That was more than enough of a reason to not do anything. And as for eating? Just the idea made him feel sick.

"I have something for you." His mother said, ever the trier. "There's a garden show on later, and I thought you and I could go to it. When's the last time you saw flowers?"

Quirrell frowned and slowly propped himself up again. "A-ages."

"There you go, then. Get dressed."

Quirrell bit his lip. "It'll be b-busy."

"It's on all week. If there are too many people for you to be comfortable with, we can go another day. But let's try it first."

He hesitated. Getting up and going outside? But..."O-okay. But not too - too long."

"Whatever you want. It's quite cold outside, though, so wrap up."

Quirrell murmured something in response, rubbing his arms, already freezing. His body wasn't used to warmth or comfort after being starved of the two for so long. He hesitantly swung his legs out of the bed, which were shaky and thin, and stumbled around for some clothes, trying to avoid looking at himself in the mirror as he did so, knowing he'd only cry again.

Once dressed in a sweater and jeans, he slowly opened his door, squinting at the brightness, and gripped onto the railing as he made his way downstairs.

"There he is." His mother reached out to hug him, but he automatically flinched and she hastily retracted her arms.

"C-can we go n-now?" He found himself asking. The sooner he went, the sooner he could go back to bed.

"Well, maybe you should eat something first." His mother suggested. "Is there anything you -"

"Not h-hungry." He replied quietly.

His mother sighed, looking at him. "You're skin and bone, Quirinus."

"'C-course I am. I've b-been starved for - six m-months." He retorted, aware of how feeble and dull his voice sounded. He decided not to mention that he'd lost all will to live anyway.

"Alright, come on then." She sighed again. "We'll take the car. Bring your coat."

His parents were living in muggle territory and had been for years, which suited Quirrell just fine. As far as he was concerned, he was never going back to the Wizarding World, ever. Not that they'd even want him, but…

The car ride took a while, and it passed in silence. Eventually they arrived at some building, which didn't remotely look like a garden show. Quirrell managed a small laugh. "Oh. Th-thanks, Mom, you g-got me."

She didn't respond right away, and unbuckled her seat belt. "There is a garden show. We're just taking a detour."

"Uh-huh."

"You're very sick, Quirinus. But you know that already, I'm sure. You're the one who's suffered, so now we're going to do something about it."

"T-take me home."

"This therapist is one of the best -"

Quirrell laughed again. "Oh, wow! A sh-shrink! Y'think a d-damn shrink is g-gonna help me? You're c-crazier than I - I am!"

"First of all, you're not crazy." She retorted. "Second, how else do you think you're going to get better?"

"I'm n-not." He rolled his eyes. "Mom, p-please, take me - me home!"

"We're going to this therapist." His mother replied, talking to him like he was a petulant toddler. "Out the car."

Quirrell gritted his teeth as he opened the car door, slamming it shut behind him once he was out. "Then f-fuck the garden sh-show. If it e-even exists."

"Watch your language." She told him as they walked inside the building, where she then told the receptionist Quirrell's name. Once they were sitting in the waiting room, she continued, "And I told you there was a garden show and I meant it."

"I can't b-believe you did this b-behind my back!" He snapped, and to his horror his eyes filled with tears. "I w-want to go h-home. This is st-stupid!"

"Quirinus..."'

"No! I sh-should've jumped in the w-water after my release. Saved my-myself from all this c-crap." His voice cracked. "The m-moment I found out he was d-dead, I should've -"

"Oh, Quirinus, not this again. The man was a monster who used you. Look at the mess you're in because of him! You can't even go back to the Wizarding World!"

"He - he was my f-friend!"

"You-Know-Who doesn't have friends, darling. He threw you in a prison cell, what more proof do you need? And now he's dead, so good riddance. We can all sleep safer."

Quirrell covered his mouth as his tears began to fall, and he hunched up in the chair, shaking. "D-don't say that, p-please..."

His mother attempted to place a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. "I'm sorry. But I -"

Quirrell jumped as his name was called and rapidly shook his head. "Not g-going in."

"Quirinus, please get up." His mother replied, attempting to take his arm. "You need help."

"I n-need - to be left - alone!"

It didn't work, and he was more or less dragged in the small office to be told what they all already knew. Severe depression and PTSD with terrible anxiety. They were to put him on medication immediately and watch out in case he did something stupid. Basically, he'd been reduced to a freak-show.

"I think it'd be a good idea if you came to me for weekly sessions." The doctor told him. "Only if you want to, of course, there's no pressure, but I would thoroughly recommend it..."

Quirrell just looked at her blankly. He couldn't bring himself to care, or even make the effort to listen. He wanted to go back to bed. "Mm."

She held out a prescription for numerous drugs, which almost definitely wouldn't make any difference. Sleeping pills to stop dementors nightmares. He almost laughed. "Take the help, Quirinus. You can get better if you work at it. It'll take time, but you'll recover."

"Th-thanks." He replied blandly, and was all set to tear the prescription up once he was outside the office, but his mother snatched it from him and pocketed it.

"Don't even try." She scolded. "We're going to pick this medication up now, okay?"

"Y-you can, I'm g-going home."

"Do you have a drivers licence?"

Quirrell stopped, and glared at her. "No, b-but…I can d-drive."

"Not legally. And none of us want you in a prison cell." Her eyes widened as she realised what she'd said and she hastily shook her head. "I'm so sorry, that was stupid. I didn't think."

Quirrell just held out his hand for the car keys.

XxX

They'd locked all the knives away. Quirrell rummaged around the cabinets, his frustration growing with each passing second. For fuck's sake, he wasn't going to stab himself. He needed a knife to cut up food. Not for himself, he still couldn't eat a thing, but as a token of gratitude for his parents taking him in, he'd planned on making them dinner. Which wasn't going to happen if there weren't any god damn knives available.

He'd use his wand, but that had been taken away from him too. His mother barely used magic herself seeing as they lived in the muggle world, and his dad was a muggle so that was out. As a result they'd decided allowing Quirrell to use his wand could be dangerous, so that was away somewhere.

"Ugh!" He kicked at the cabinet, wandering around the small kitchen. The knives had to be somewhere. This was ridiculous.

"What are you doing?" His father stood in the doorway, looking at him with concern.

"Where - where d'you k-keep the -"

"You never cook."

"T-trying to be nice, but - but no knives!" Quirrell snapped, blushing at his god-awful speech. "And - I can c-cook! If I'm - I'm gonna be st-staying for a bit, I m-might as well -"

His father reached up to the higher cabinet, withdrawing a small key from his pocket to unlock it. He then got a kitchen knife and handed it over to Quirrell. "There you go."

Quirrell glowered at the cabinet and the key now back in his father's hand. "That's g-gonna get really an-annoying..."

"I know, son, and I'm sorry. But it's necessary, apparently. Just gotta work through it until..."

"Until what, I'm c-cured? Please..." He began cutting up the vegetables, scowling. His father watched him for a while, before he eventually spoke again.

"I have news that might cheer you up a little."

"En-enlighten me." Quirrell responded bleakly. "Is V-Voldemort alive aft-ter all?"

His father flinched noticeably. "Enough of that talk. It's verging on Stockholm syndrome."

"Add an-another thing to my - my list of issues." Quirrell snorted. "Go on, th-then. What news?"

"Your mother stumbled across Jamie. Remember him? The young food delivery man, who you used to have a crush on."

Quirrell looked up to glare at him. "Where're you g-going with this?"

"Well it turns out he's free tomorrow, and he's been dying to see you, so...We figured it'd be good for you to attempt to socialise more and -"

The knife fell from Quirrell's grip and clattered against the counter. "Wh- what? You d-did what? You or-organised a date for m-me?" He gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, all colour draining from his already pale face. "You're c-crazy!"

"Not a date." His father said hurriedly. "Just a meeting between two friends."

"Oh my God!" He couldn't breathe. "No! P-please, you can't be s-serious!"

"Look, it's nothing major, Quirinus, he just wants to see how you are."

"So - so you told him I'm a f-freak? P-perfect!" Quirrell shakily took a step away from the counter, running his hands through his hair. "No! C-call him and cancel it! There's no way in - in hell!"

"It's not meant to make you upset. It might be good for you, to talk to someone else, someone your own age..."

Before he could stop himself, Quirrell picked up one of the plates and hurled it with all his might against the wall. It shattered into several jagged pieces all over the kitchen floor, and he didn't wait around for his father's response. Instead, he ran for the door, yanking it open and escaping from the confining house, his breathing restricted. Fuck! They could set it up however they liked, this was blatant match-making. And with the delivery guy who he hadn't seen for a year? And wasn't remotely interested in knowing anymore? What a joke!

"Not - not my soulmate." He muttered bitterly to himself. Voldemort would've found this hilarious, he knew that for sure. "Can you b-believe this? C-crazy."

Voldemort would've told him ways to get out of it. Told him to stick up for himself more and have his say in all of this. But that was easier said than done, and Voldemort wasn't around anymore. "I h-hate you, you b-bastard." He mumbled dejectedly.

He waited a while before he grudgingly returned to the house due to how cold it was getting. Once inside, his parents acted like nothing was wrong, and the plate had been repaired. No one mentioned his mood swing or the so-called date, and Quirrell dared himself to believe that he'd gotten out of it.

"So, Jamie wants to see you next week." His mother told him as she poured herself a drink. "I think it's a good idea. For you to talk."

"Y-you've always wanted me – me to get with that g-guy." Quirrell pointed out, too tired now to even argue.

"No I haven't."

"Well, I d-don't want to see h-him. Things are d-different now. With – with me."

"That's why you should see him. Talk to someone else besides us. And you know, you barely talk to us anyway, so why not give Jamie a try?"

"'C-cause I hate people." Quirrell responded as he walked away. "And he's a m-muggle."

"Oh, don't tell me You-Know-Who's attitude rubbed off on you!" She shuddered. "So you're disregarding your father because he's not magic?"

"D-don't be stupid." Quirrell stopped at the stairs. "I'm s-saying, he's a muggle, so – so he won't know why I'm m-messed up to such an ex-extent. And it's o-obvious to any wizard or – or witch where I've b-been, isn't it?"

"Only because it was in all the papers." His mother tried. "And you saw the latest Prophet: 'Quirinus Quirrell is innocent'. Not that I had any doubt in the first place, but some people are always quick to assume…"

"Y-you included. You d-don't believe me when – whenever I say how nice V-Voldemort was."

"That's because he was a Dark Lord who threw you in Azkaban, dear. Manipulation was his middle name."

"Oh, shut – shut up." Quirrell muttered, resuming his walk up the stairs.

"Saturday night next week." She called after him, "Jamie's looking forward to it, so make sure you're smiling."

Quirrell slammed his bedroom door shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

First step to moving on from Quirrell was to throw himself into a seriously intense work-out regime. Then maybe pick up some new hobbies. Or maybe even find a decent place to live, seeing as he was basically in a fucking shack. So much for a back-up place for the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters hadn't exactly done a great job when they'd built the place for him all those years ago. Ah well. At least they weren't here to irritate him anymore.

Voldemort took a gulp of his water, breathing heavily through his nose. He hadn't even counted the number of sit-ups he'd just done, but his abdomen was aching so it'd obviously been more than his previous best.

"So," He said out loud, taking a seat. "Now what?" What was he meant to do if he had no desire to kill Potter anymore? And he wasn't going to interfere in Quirrell's life anymore, no way. Besides, he had no idea where the man would've gone after Azkaban. He could be anywhere. Back at Hogwarts? No. Old apartment in the Wizarding World? Probably not. Maybe even in an entirely different country!

_Could be dead._ Voldemort shuddered, hurriedly drinking some more water. No, no, not dead. Not Quirrell. But he really could be anywhere, with anyone. Voldemort just hoped he was safe and being looked after by someone.

XxX

Jamie looked just as lovely as Quirrell had remembered – that brown scruffy hair and decent physique, plus the stubble that he managed to pull off. Whenever Quirrell didn't shave he looked like a homeless person.

Not that Jamie's nice looks actually mattered at all. Quirrell wasn't remotely interested in him, not even as a friend. He didn't even want to socialise, yet here they both were.

Jamie had picked him up from the house, and after a lot of awkward debating, they'd decided on just hanging out in a small coffee place.

"I c-can't eat right n-now." Quirrell had tried to explain, self-consciously zipping up his coat so the guy wouldn't notice quite how thin he was.

"Yeah, sure, no problem." Jamie had dismissed as they walked into the local town. "How about drinking?"

"K-kinda."

"Any preference?"

"Um..."

"Coffee? Tea? Going mad on whiskey?"

Quirrell had managed a tiny smile. "C-coffee's good."

"Awesome, I know a good place. Owner loves me."

_Lovely looking. But a bit pretentious._

So now they were sitting on one of the small tables with their coffee, and neither of them said much. Which suited Quirrell fine, seeing as this hadn't been his idea anyway.

"Staying with your parents for a bit?" Jamie eventually asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Not ex-exactly by choice." Quirrell responded bitterly. "N-nowhere else to - to go."

"Right." There was another silence. "So," Jamie commented after a while. "That school you worked at really did a number on you, huh?"

"What?" Quirrell glanced up, startled.

"I just mean, the last time I saw you, you'd been given a job offer at some boarding school, and now you're back looking like the students have repeatedly ran you over with a truck." Jamie laughed.

Quirrell flinched and out his mug down with shaking hands. "Th-thanks." He replied quietly.

"Oh, I didn't mean - You look gorgeous, as always. Wait, I didn't - I just mean that you look really - can I start over?"

Quirrell managed a small smile, feeling his face heat up slightly at the compliment. "T-truth is, I wasn't ac-actually at - at the sc-school too long." He admitted. "St-stuff happened."

Jamie nodded carefully. "Yeah. I kind of figured there was something else."

"O-Obvious, right?" Quirrell smiled humourlessly. "I'm not g-gonna talk a-about it, though."

"Sure. It's not my business." He replied. "But I take it you won't be going back to the school, then?"

"No w-way in h-hell."

"So you'll be around here for a while?"

"I g-guess."

"I'm pleased to hear that." Jamie told him with a smile so nice it made Quirrell blush again. "Not about you losing the job, obviously. But that you'll be staying."

He was really nervous about where this was going. "J-Jamie, uh..." He swallowed. "I'm a f-fuck-up. You d-don't wanna spend t-time with m-me."

"You're not a fuck-up, Quirinus." He told him, before his smile widened. "And yes, I do."

"Th-then you're as c-crazy as I am." Quirrell snorted. "I'm d-doped up on drugs h-half the time."

"To help you. They don't make you any less of a good person. Neither do your mental illnesses."

Quirrell paused for a moment, looking at him. "Huh. Y-you're pretty nice." _But you're not Voldemort and I hate you for it.  
_  
Jamie laughed. "I try. But I mean it. I don't see your depression. I just see you, and I like you."

Quirrell really doubted that. It was a ridiculous concept. "Th-thanks..." He began, but was interrupted from saying anything else.

"Will you let me take you out again sometime? Even if it's just for another coffee?"

"I...I d-don't..." Quirrell bit his lip.

"Look, don't stress over it, it's no big deal." Jamie raised his hands in surrender. "I just want you to know that I mean what I say."

Quirrell finished his coffee with a small nod. "I just d-don't think it's a g-good idea."

"Why? Because you're not feeling good at the moment? That doesn't matter to me."

"It m-matters to me." Quirrell retorted, before he shrugged. "But th-thanks. I'll...think a-about it."

Jamie grinned. "Great! And who knows, maybe this'll make you a bit better."

Quirrell frowned heavily. "W-what, talking to - to you? Yeah, I'm c-cured already!"

The grin fell instantly. "That's not what I meant."

"F-fuck, man, I've never h-heard anything as - as arrogant as th-that!" Quirrell stood from the table, relieved to now have an excuse to do so, grabbing his coat. "Th-thanks for the c-coffee. See y-you around."

"Quirinus, please, I swear I didn't mean for it to sound like that." Jamie stood too. "At least let me walk you back to your house."

"I-I'm not a child."

"I know. It's common courtesy."

"Only if - if there's a p-promise of sex. Which b-believe me, th-there isn't!" He shrugged his coat on, zipping it up.

"What? Oh, c'mon, that's not true. You've been watching too many movies."

"N-nothing else to - to do in that h-house."

"Look, Quirinus, I'm not offering to walk you home because I think I'll get a quick fuck out of it. That's stupid! I respect you."

Quirrell rolled his eyes. "You d-don't even know m-me."

"But I'd like to." He chuckled slightly. "Besides, your parents are in that house. Maybe one day you can come back to my place."

"Ugh!" Quirrell all but yelled, causing a lot of people to look up in surprise. "Seriously? G-get lost!"

"Oh, Quirinus, that was a joke -"

"No, no, th-that is not okay. D-don't ever say that to me!" Quirrell snapped. "Y'think I'm just g-gonna jump into b-bed with you? How s-self-absorbed are you?"

"No! No, listen -"

"I'm d-done with listening." Quirrell replied stonily, already walking. He left the cafe and didn't wait for him. He just kept going until he reached his parents' house, which took the best of thirty minutes because he was already so tired.

By the time he'd entered the house there had been two messages on his phone from the guy,  
apologising profusely. Quirrell ignored them until his phone beeped again, and again, and eventually he sighed. Fine. He'd go on another date.

XxX

"I was thinking maybe somewhere else tonight. Not that I don't love coffee with you, of course, but maybe somewhere a little more upmarket."

It was a month later and Quirrell had found himself in what seemed to be some sort of relationship with Jamie, and he didn't really know what to think about that at the moment. Maybe he just shouldn't think. It only made things worse. "I st-still don't eat m-much." He pointed out as they walked. "And I d-don't exactly have a ton of – of money."

"How about soup, then?"

"Soup's m-more upmarket?" Jamie flicked Quirrell's nose, making him grin. "Sorry, Vol - Jamie." Shit, that was becoming a habit, always almost blurting out Voldemort's name instead of the man he was standing next to right now. "Look, t-take me wherever, I d-don't really care."

"Okay, then." Jamie took his hand, and Quirrell resisted the overwhelming urge to yank it away. He didn't like contact anymore. "I know a place and – "

"The o-owner loves you, r-right?"

"Will you quit it?" Jamie laughed, pulling him along easily.

"It b-better be cheap, o-okay? But, like, not so ch-cheap that it's all t-tacky."

"It's a nice place, the prices are fine, and it's quiet. Is that alright for his Highness?"

"I'll s-survive." Quirrell replied.

"Besides, I'm paying for it. So it doesn't matter, does it?"

Quirrell frowned. "But - you p-paid last time."

"So?"

"So isn't it my – my turn? Or we c-could split the t-tab or something?"

"I don't mind paying, Quirinus. Besides, you…" He trailed off, clearing his throat. "You don't have a job."

Quirrell blushed. "Th-thanks for the reminder. I'm t-trying."

"I know, I know you are, and I'm really proud of you." Jamie said earnestly. "It's just, I don't want you borrowing off your parents to pay for our dates, or –"

"I d-don't." Quirrell retorted, his blush only deepening. This was so embarrassing. "It – it's my own m-money. I have a b-bank account, y'know."

"Oh, right, sure." He cleared his throat again. "Sorry, I just…"

"B-basically, I can pay for my – my own stuff, okay?" Quirrell cut across him. "And I d-don't wanna argue a-about it. So…t-take me to this p-place."

"You're still trying for a job, right?" Jamie asked carefully as they entered the restaurant. "'Cause listen, you don't need to just look for teaching opportunities, there are tons of other options."

"I l-like teaching." Quirrell replied simply as they were shown to a free table, immediately sitting down.

"Yeah, sure, I know. But…"

"_What_?" Quirrell all but groaned in exasperation.

"Nothing, it's just that you hated the interviews. You broke down after every one."

"Sh-shut up, Jamie." Quirrell snapped, blushing again as he ordered himself a beer, suddenly really needing it. "I'm w-working on it."

"But you don't need to keep putting yourself in this situation. It only gets you more anxious." He attempted, before shaking his head. "Alright, I'll shut up. You know what's best."

"Th-thanks." Quirrell muttered back, looking forward to going home to his bed already.

"Oh, Quirinus, don't go sulky on me." Jamie grinned, reaching for his hand that was rested on top of the table. Quirrell instantly withdrew it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to sound bad."

"You – you say that a lot."

"Yeah. I know. I suck, don't I?"

"Meh." Quirrell shrugged. "I – I'm still st-sticking around."

"Thank God for that." Jamie replied with another smile. "I am sorry, though. Let me make it up to you."

Quirrell tried not to pull a face at that. "St-still no sex. Sorry."

"That's not what I meant." He snorted. "I'm thinking more getting you dessert."

"I'm not even h-hungry for regular f-food." Quirrell told him, glancing down at his menu.

"Then what else can I do? Massage you?"

Quirrell grimaced. "Ugh, are – are you serious?"

"Only slightly. Buy you some new clothes rather than those sweaters?"

"You c-can't buy my affection, l-loser." Quirrell threw a napkin at him. "And – and my sweaters are g-great. I'm f-freezing!"

"Oh! I have an idea. We can go to a spa together. Guaranteed warmth, and the two of us topless."

"O-over my dead b-body. I don't do spas. Or b-being topless." Quirrell gestured to himself. "I'm d-doing us both a f-favour."

"As if. Alright then, no dessert, massages, new clothes, or spas. So what do you like?"

"B-books. Romance. G-gardens." Quirrell told him. "But like I s-said, you can't b-buy my affection."

"I'm not trying to. I hope I have your affection already. Do I?"

"Meh." Quirrell repeated with a smile. "Y-you're okay."

Jamie laughed. "You're a dick, but I like you. It'd be impossible not to."

"I f-feel the same about y-you." Quirrell replied truthfully. "So I g-guess if you really w-want to make it up to – to me, you can k-keep seeing me. No one else w-wants to."

"Only because you don't give others a chance." Jamie pointed out. "But I'll be more than happy to keep seeing you. So, does this make you my boyfriend or what?"

"Uh…" Quirrell faltered. Damned if he knew. "Y-yeah, sure, I guess."

His first boyfriend. Wow. He suddenly really wanted to go back to bed and cry, and not exactly from happiness.

Jamie took Quirrell's hand and kissed it, and the gesture was so over the top it made Quirrell cringe. "So, ah…yeah!" He chuckled awkwardly, prising his hand away. "G-great!"

"It is." Jamie breathed back, before leaning across the small table to kiss him. His first kiss. In _public_. With someone who wasn't his soulmate.

Quirrell flinched, sitting back in his chair and resisting the urge to wipe at his mouth. "Um, s-sorry, I'm…j-jumpy…"

"I know, that's okay. I'll wait."

_For what? More kisses? _More_ than kissing?_ "O-okay…"

"I mean it, Quirinus. I'll look after you. You don't need to feel pressured into anything, alright?" Jamie smiled at him warmly, clearly not noticing how uncomfortable he was.

Quirrell just nodded back feebly. "Sure. O-okay."

It didn't feel okay. It felt all wrong. Because this man wasn't Voldemort. No one would ever be like his Voldemort.

_Damn it. _

XxX

_You could've taken care of him. _

Voldemort huffed in irritation as the voice in his head chimed up yet again. How many times did he have to tell himself that he wasn't going to interfere in Quirrell's life anymore? Besides, the man almost definitely wanted nothing to do with him, and no wonder. He'd been out of Azkaban for a few months now. He'd be fine!

Voldemort grimaced as he realised he had no idea how long Azkaban trauma lasted. It was probably different for everyone. But hey, Quirrell was tough. He'd probably got a new job and house and maybe even a partner. He was almost definitely doing great.

So if that were the case, Voldemort could maybe…just find out whereabouts Quirrell was staying, just to make sure he really was alright. What if he was actually living in poverty or something awful? Thinking about it, it'd be hard for him to find a job after coming out of Azkaban, it was only logical. So if Voldemort just checked up on him. Nothing major. He could totally do that, and it wouldn't be interfering in Quirrell's life, right? Right!

**Please review :3 **


	3. Chapter 3

3

"So, are you gonna do any more interviews, or is that you done?"

Quirrell simply clicked the next TV channel, gulping the last of his beer. "I g-got one t-tomorrow."

"You do? Great! So are you going to prepare for that?" Jamie took the TV remote from his hand. "Quirinus?"

"Y-yeah, sure."

"'Cause you look like you've already quit before you've even gone. And do your parents know you're drinking that?"

"Oh my God," Quirrell rolled his eyes, "I – I'm twenty th-three. I can d-drink whatever I w-want."

"I don't think alcohol and anti-depressants mix well." Jamie countered, taking the empty bottle from Quirrell's hand. "But again, you know what's best, don't you?"

"Uh-huh…" Quirrell tried to continue watching TV. "C-can you move to the s-side for a second?"

"Do you want to go outside? It's a nice day. We could go to the lake, feed the ducks, anything."

"Mm…I d-don't feel like it." Quirrell replied. "G-gotta rest for that in-interview and all."

"You've been 'resting' for the past week." Jamie raised an eyebrow. "And it's not even resting. It's hiding."

"Shut up."

"Your parents are worried about you."

"Th-they always are."

"You do realise this isn't exactly fun for me, right? Watching you laze around and watch TV while you drink all your parents' booze?"

Quirrell frowned at him. "I d-didn't _ask_ you to c-come over."

"We're concerned you're getting worse." He responded simply, and Quirrell scowled.

"I h-have an interview t-tomorrow! I'm b-being proactive!"

He scoffed. "Hardly."

"Oh, j-just get lost. I d-didn't ask you." Quirrell grouched, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"Quirinus, please. Just come outside for an hour. That's all, one hour."

"No. I'm g-gonna prepare for this…th-thing." Quirrell ran a hand through his hair. "It's a m-middle school nearby. If I'm lucky, I c-can sub other c-classes for extra m-money. If I even get the m-main job."

"Just be confident." Jamie took his hands. "Smile a lot. Slow your speech down so your stutter doesn't worsen. You'll be great."

Quirrell looked at him doubtfully. "You think?"

"I do. So fine, you go prepare for that, and I'll see you later. Tonight?"

"P-probably not, I gotta go s-sleep early. I'll be – be a wreck t-tomorrow if I don't." Quirrell replied, but blew him a kiss. "I'll t-text you though. And – and we can go out on Th-Thursday."

He smiled slightly. "Alright, then. Tell me how it goes." He kissed Quirrell's forehead. "And good luck."

XxX

"I'm n-never _ever_ going for a-another fucking interview." Quirrell snapped as he walked through the front door, throwing his briefcase to the side.

His mother glanced up from the newspaper she was reading. "I take it that it didn't go well?"

"That s-school is – ridiculous!" Quirrell tugged off his tie furiously. "They t-tried to get me to – to go to a class and introduce my-myself to all the kids!"

"Isn't that what teachers do every day? Stand up in front of kids?"

"Ugh!" Was Quirrell's only response.

"Well, what was the issue?"

"The – the _issue_ is that I wasn't p-prepared! I d-didn't know what to – to do!" He huffed angrily. "So – I f-freaked! In f-front of 'em all. I can't do it, o-okay? I c-can't teach anymore."

"That's not true." His mother told him. "I think you're rushing into everything too fast. There's no hurry to find a job. No one can blame you for finding it difficult."

"Th-that's not what Jamie thinks."

"Then ignore him."

"I f-feel so embarrassed, o-okay? You don't g-get it! I don't w-wanna stay here f-forever and have p-people looking over me all – all the time! But if I c-can't even get a damn job…" His phone buzzed, a text from Jamie, asking if he'd got an offer. "Look, if he c-comes round, tell him to f-fuck off."

"I'll say it in a nicer way, but fine." His mother looked back at the newspaper, absent-mindedly turning the page. "Look at this article. It's so strange."

"If – if it's the Prophet, I'll p-pass." Quirrell replied tiredly, though he did take a seat next to her on the couch.

"There's been sightings of a man in a hood wandering around all the Wizarding towns at midnight. You don't think it's a Death Eater, do you?"

"You s-say that like I'm c-close to any of 'em." Quirrell rolled his eyes, but he did look over the article, frowning. "Huh. C-creepy."

"Whenever anyone nearby went to investigate he'd vanish. So it's not a muggle that's lost or anything…"

"Duh. It c-could be anyone, though. A d-dumb teenager trying to sc-scare people, even. I d-don't think any Death Eaters w-would pull that trick. Not with V-Voldemort being…" He swallowed. "Y'know, n-not around anymore."

"Didn't stop them before. And then they brought him back."

"O-only 'cause of me, remember?" Quirrell blushed slightly. "That was my f-fault. There's no way he'll c-come back now. I h-heard all the hor-horcrux's were destroyed."

"Just as well. Still…" His mother closed the paper. "This is weird. I hope they catch whoever this man is."

"He's not d-doing any harm. M-maybe he just likes w-walking around at night." Quirrell stretched tiredly. "I'm d-dead, I gotta go sleep."

"You do that, then. I'll send Jamie away if he shows up."

"P-please." He hesitated for a moment. "D'you r-really think I can still t-teach?"

"They don't call you the brightest professor for nothing." His mother replied, looking up at him with a smile. "You'll make it."

"Y-yeah, about that…" Quirrell began, nervously, tugging at his sleeves. "I was w-wondering if, um…I c-could have my wand b-back?" He saw his mother's face fall and he hastily elaborated. "J-just for f-flowers and things, jeez. No D-disapparating or d-dumb stuff, I swear. I j-just really want my – my wand."

"Haven't you mastered wandless magic?"

"It's not the s-same, and you kn-know it." Quirrell coughed in embarrassment. "And…and it d-doesn't work w-when I'm anxious or m-miserable, so it's p-pretty useless now, huh?"

"I don't know, Quirinus. I'm not sure if…"

"I – I'm not a kid, c'mon. I can m-make my own d-decisions. Just t-tell me where you've h-hidden it."

"Not yet. How about when you get a job?"

"We've b-been through this! And – and you t-told me to take my t-time with that!" Quirrell laughed. "Give me my w-wand."

"No, Quirinus." She replied firmly. "And don't ask again."

"This – this is crazy. I'm not a b-baby, I'm a g-grown man." His voice darkened. "You realise t-treating me like a p-prisoner is gonna make every-everything so much worse, d-don't you?"

"We're looking out for you." His mother told him. "It's as simple as that. We don't think you're well enough to be in control of a wand just yet. Soon, maybe."

"H-how soon is soon?"

"When you've been to therapy for a whole two months."

"This is – ridiculous!" He snapped. "Therapy's useless. I h-hate it. And I hate b-being here." He began to walk to the stairs. "I'm g-going to bed."

He was going to get his own way whether they liked it or not. Besides, he'd practically already started making his own decisions. They wouldn't like it once they found out, but fuck it, that wasn't his problem.

They weren't looking out for him, they were force-feeding him. He couldn't do anything without it being questioned. Well, he'd show them just how capable he was soon enough. He could do this alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Darker chapter here, but it lightens up slightly towards the end. Just a warning! **

Going through every Wizarding town hadn't been easy, and had taken up a lot of Voldemort's time. Suddenly his mission to just have a little look and see how Quirrell was doing had completely escalated. So much so that he had even used Legilimency as a last resort for some clues, which disgusted himself. As if Quirrell hadn't been through enough because of him, and now Voldemort was forcing himself into his dreams? Damn it, what was wrong with him?

Although it hadn't been pleasant, it had at least shown him where Quirrell was staying: A common muggle town. How...degrading to go from the brightest wizard around to staying in this kind of establishment.

Maybe that wasn't fair - maybe Quirrell didn't have any choice. Or maybe he had bigger concerns, which was understandable. God, Voldemort sucked.

At least he didn't need to wear a big cloak while wondering around this town. From the looks of it, it was crowded with everyday muggles, but to be safe he was wearing a jacket with its hood up, something he'd found while searching for Quirrell. It wasn't in the best condition, but it was comfortable and enough for him to blend in, so whatever. Like his clothes mattered.

"Hey, excuse me?" Voldemort asked the first guy he saw. He was good-looking enough, but their was an air or arrogance around him too that screamed 'muggle asshole'. "I'm looking for someone," He continued, deeming it safe to push his hood off, slicking back his hair. "I was wondering if..."

"Oh, sure." The man replied, a bit distracted as his phone started ringing. "Sorry, let me take this, then I'll see what I can do."

"Whatever, yeah." Voldemort replied, trying not to show his irritation. "You get right on that."

"Quirinus, you okay?" The man asked instantly as he answered the call, and Voldemort froze. "Listen, calm down, tell me what happened."

It was him, wasn't it? It was Quirrell! How many other guys had the first name 'Quirinus'? God, this was way too convenient to be a coincidence.

"You know why they locked them away, and no one's out to get you." The man continued, sounding exhausted. "Now listen, and I want you to answer me honestly, alright? Are you taking your pills?"

Whoa, what was going on here? Was Quirrell alright? Was he sick? Voldemort bit his lip hard to refrain from asking.

"For God's sake, don't yell at me like that, and tell me the truth!" The man retorted. "You're not, are you? Do you know how fucking serious this is? They're for your own good!"

Voldemort scowled at the way the man was talking to him. If Quirrell wasn't taking whatever pills for whatever reason, there were better ways to go about it than yell at him. "Hey, look -"

The man shook his head at him before continuing. "I'm coming over, okay? And - Oh, no, don't give me that. This has been a series of bad days! You call me up every fucking morning crying over something!" He paused, clenching his jaw. "Don't talk to you like what? Like you're sick? You are sick! That's why you need to take your medicine! Will we all need to monitor you now like you're some baby? You're a grown man!"

Alright, enough was enough. "Hey!" Voldemort snapped before he could stop himself, and the man blinked at him in surprise.

"Look, I'll come round in a bit, alright?" He then muttered to Quirrell before he disconnected the call. "I'm sorry, that was a bit much. Domestic problems that shouldn't be shouted in he middle of the street." He laughed awkwardly, rubbing his cheek. "It's hard work."

"You don't need to talk to him like that. Uh, whoever it was you were talking to." Voldemort gestured. "I mean, if he's not feeling well, he doesn't have to take medicine."

"My boyfriend is severely depressed." The man replied with a raised eyebrow after looking at him for a moment."He needs to take that medicine to even get out of bed. But thanks for your input."

There was a silence, as Voldemort felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Wha - _boyfriend_? Depressed?"

"And suffering from major PTSD and anxiety." The man continued, rubbing his forehead. "And if he's not taking those anti-depressants, no wonder he's in such a state all the time. Fuck. Sorry, I really have to go, you might need to ask someone else..."

"No, wait, hold up!" Voldemort all but wheezed. "Boyfriend?"

"Some men have boyfriends." He replied obnoxiously, as if Voldemort was a complete moron.

"No, duh, that's not what - but Quirrell doesn't have a - "

The man stopped, looking at him in surprise. "Excuse me? You know my boyfriend?"

"Uh." He hesitated. "Yeah, I do. Quirinus Quirrell, right? We're...old friends."

"He's never mentioned you." He retorted rudely.

"Well, I haven't told you my name." Voldemort pointed out, aware that his hands were shaking. "So - so how long have you two been a thing?"

"A month, give or take." He replied smoothly, looking him up and down. "Well, I'm guessing he's who you were looking for, right? So how about you come with me and we go and see him?"

A white hot jealously pulsed through him. A month? God, what did that even entail? Had this douche been Quirrell's first kiss? He could do so much better than this guy! "I...No, that's probably not a good idea." He managed feebly.

"I insist. Hey, maybe you can finally shed some light on why he's like this. What caused him to have such a breakdown. Being an old friend and everything."

"Oh, he...he didn't say?" Voldemort replied stupidly. Of course he hadn't said, this dude was a muggle! "Well, it's not my business to tell you, so..."

"I'd really appreciate it."

"And I don't give a fuck what you'd appreciate." Voldemort snapped. "It's Quirrell's business."

"Wow, some friend. Won't even refer to him by his first name. How respectful."

"He hates the name Quirinus." Voldemort replied with a small smirk. "Maybe that's why he's pissed at you right now."

He smiled grimly back. "Why don't you want to see him?"

"I don't want to interfere if he's upset." He said lamely, and them suddenly froze. "And don't tell him you saw me either."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You really can't."  
"And why not?"

Damn, this guy was getting to get hit with the Cruciatus curse, wasn't he? "'Cause I'm telling you right now, if you do..." He lowered his voice. "You'll make 'im miserable, and you'll have me to answer to."

"How many other weird ex-boyfriends am I gonna have to deal with here?"

"I'm not his ex!" Voldemort snapped, trying to ignore how his heart raced at that. "And as a matter of fact, you're Quirrell's first. Did he fail to mention that?"

There was a silence, and the man turned away from him. "I need to see if he's alright. Don't come sniffing around anymore, got it? It's the last thing either of us need."

"Now hold on -" Voldemort stopped himself from doing anything he'd regret, and instead just watched the guy hurry off.

Fuck, that had been Quirrell's _boyfriend_. And...and Quirrell wasn't well at all, was he? Oh God. What the hell had Voldemort done to him?

XxX

Quirrell covered his ears, sitting with his back against the back of the sofa as Jamie continued to knock loudly on the front door. He'd closed all the curtains so the room was dark and he couldn't see anyone, but he could hear him and he wouldn't go away.

"Quirinus! Open the damn door!" The hammering intensified, "Please, you're scaring me!"

He wasn't scary. He was perfectly fine.

"Is this because you can't get a job? That doesn't matter! If I've been pressuring you, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Let me in!"

Quirrell closed his eyes, pressing forcefully against his ears. Why were they doing this? Why couldn't they leave him alone? There was nothing wrong with him. He hadn't been taking his medication for weeks now, and he was fine.

"I'll break the door down! I will!"

He couldn't do that. He'd need to pay for it if he did. Quirrell's parents would be pissed.

"Do you want your parents to come back here and find you like this? They'll send you away!"

Quirrell's eyes opened and he slowly lowered his hands, his heart best increasing. Away? But he had no where else to go. What did that mean? "G-go away!"

"Maybe it's for the best, maybe you do need a hospital. Open up!"

Hospital? Like a psychiatric ward? This was such bullshit! He shakily stood and made his way to the door, even though his mind screamed at him to go back. He unlocked the front door, and opened it, squaring up and trying to stay calm. "There's n-nothing wrong w-with me."

Jamie looked like he was torn between shoving him and hugging him. Eventually he just breathed out slowly. "Can I come in?"

"Are you g-gonna take me to h-hospital?" Quirrell challenged.

"Are you going to take your meds?"

"No. I d-don't like them. I don't n-need them."

Jamie took another few moments. "Quirinus, you barricaded yourself indoors."

"'C-cause no one will leave me- me alone."

"You called me up crying because you couldn't find something. What was it this time? A kitchen knife? A box of matches? Things that've been locked away for your own good?"

_My wand, you bastard_. Quirrell swallowed and didn't say anything.

"Listen to me. You're severely depressed."

"S-so?" Quirrell's voice cracked.

"So we're trying to help you. That's all we seem to do. And you're already throwing away medication that was beginning to have an effect. Why?"

"I t-told you. I don't l-like 'em. They m-make me feel sick." Quirrell managed, his voice barely above a whisper now.

"Right, okay. There's other possible medication. Why didn't you say anything instead of hiding it? We could've sorted something out earlier."

"I'm f-fine."

"Please. Can I come in?"

Quirrell bit his lip. "No. Y-you'll ruin the qu-quiet."

"Sorry?"

"It's so n-nice. There's so m-much screaming and c-crying in Azkaban. But here it's qu-quiet."

"Uh-huh..." Jamie said slowly as he reached to gently take Quirrell's hand. "Babe, please let me in. I promise I'll stay quiet, alright?"

Jamie was never quiet. He was so annoying. Still... "O-okay. Not for - for long."

"Sure, just to make sure you're safe." Jamie replied as he hesitantly made his way into the house, still holding Quirrell's hand. Once in the living room, he helped Quirrell sit on the couch and glanced around at all the closed curtains, clearly a little unsettled. "Maybe you should eat. Have you had anything today?"

"No."

"Alright, I'll see if your parents have anything. You just stay here, yeah?"

Quirrell nodded and watched him go, and saw him slide his phone out his pocket. "H-hey, you're c-calling someone." He blurted. "St-stop. Who're you c-calling?"

Jamie sighed and didn't turn around. "You need help."

"M-maybe." Quirrell hastily stood as Jamie turned to face him. "Maybe I - I do. I'll take my m-medicine! Right n-now."

"You will? You'll start taking it again?"

"Any-anything. I promise. J-just, please, don't send me a-away!" His voice cracked. "Not a - a hospital. Please!"

Jamie carefully enveloped him in a gentle hug, and Quirrell cried into his shoulder, absolutely terrified. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I don't know why I said that. No one's taking you anywhere." He told him. "I swear. We're just worried."

"I'll - take the p-pills." Quirrell sobbed. "I'm - sorry!"

"It's ok. Well, it's not ok, that's the point, but I'm not angry. Ssh." Jamie continued to hold him, patting his back, clearly still nervous about the whole situation. "Um, you can stop crying now."

That only made it worse, because he physically couldn't stop. And it was getting really hard to breathe. "D-don't - send me - away!"

"I'm not, I just said I wasn't!"

"Az-Azkaban last t-time - now hospital - n-nothing wrong with me!"

"I don't know what Azkaban is, but you're not going to any hospital. And I know, there's nothing wrong, per se. You're just..." He trailed off. "Sick."

"Y-yeah, maybe. A - a little." Quirrell finally admitted through his small sobs. "But - but nothing serious."

"Quirinus."

"I'm f-fine. I'm normal."

"You are normal, but you also have serious issues here, and you know it. You've been sitting in the dark here for, what, four hours?"

"It's qu-quiet."

"Quirinus, I think you're having some sort of breakdown." He said plainly. "Or maybe this is the first time I'm seeing you this bad. Is that it?"

"Um, I - I..." Quirrell swallowed. "This is k-kinda...the new n-normal."

Jamie sighed, before lifting Quirrell's head up and kissing him. Quirrell was beginning to get used to kissing; it was nice, and reassuring, and made him feel a little tingly. No fireworks or anything, nothing like what his books had told him. But life wasn't a fucking romance novel. Those things weren't real. Shame it had taken him so long to realise that.

"Better?" Jamie asked as they parted. "Now, take your pills."

"I - I will. I'll st-start tomorrow."

Jamie's eyes narrowed slightly. "Go upstairs and take them."

"J-just give me a m-minute, 'til I can b-breathe." Quirrell snapped, his shoulders shaking.

"Right. Well, I'll open up some curtains in here, get some light in this house..." Jamie set off to do just that, and Quirrell screwed his eyes up as the sunlight hit the room. "Much better. How're you doing?"

_Wishing I was dead, but apart from that, just peachy_. "F-fine."

"Let's go upstairs, then." Jamie took his hand, beginning to tug him to the stairs. "So I can see you actually take your medicine."

"What a t-turn on." Quirrell replied humourlessly. "You - you don't normally h-hear that after 'let's go upstairs'."

"Oh, Quirinus." Jamie managed a small laugh. "You're so ridiculous. And I couldn't like you more."

Quirrell glanced at him hesitantly. "You m-mean that? After w-what I've done?"

"Cross my heart. But I do want you to at least try and take your pills again. And if they make you too sick, promise we'll try to find other medication."

"D-deal." Quirrell replied, defeated. What was the use in fighting anymore? "I p-promise."

Jamie kissed his forehead once they reached the top of the stairs. "Good. Where are they?"

"Y-your lucky day; they're in the b-bedroom." Quirrell told him as he shoved his door open.

"Holy hell, how do you sleep in here? It's a mess!"

Quirrell blinked, suddenly remembering how often Voldemort had scolded him for being so untidy. He shook his head hurriedly to get himself out of it. "I like it. It's...c-cosy."

"We're cleaning this up." Jamie rolled up his sleeves. "Get things organised. First step to a healthy mind is organisation."

"Oh my God, y-you sound like my -my Mom." Quirrell retrieved his pack of pills and swallowed the two dry. "I'm not c-cleaning anything, man."

"Look at all your clothes on the floor, you lazy thing." Jamie huffed as he got to work, holding up one of Quirrell's discarded sweaters. "Does this even fit? It's huge!"

"N-nothing fits, that's the p-point." Quirrell looked at himself in his mirror, sighing miserably. "I'm so - so hideous. No wonder I b-bundle up in m-multiple layers."

"You're not hideous! Don't say that." Jamie scolded. "Now, help with these clothes. Please tell me you at least out your underwear in a hamper."

"Duh." Quirrell murmured, once again thinking of Voldemort. "I'll m-make my bed, h-how about that?"

"Perfect." Jamie replied, and Quirrell moved to do just that. As he did so, he tripped up on one of his books, and fell in a heap, yelping slightly. Jamie immediately looked up. "Yeah, there's a thing called a shelf, which is perfect for books to go on and would prevent...Are you alright?"

"Um..." He bit his lip fiercely, a shooting pain in his ankle. "My...ouch..."

Jamie instantly helped him sit up, and inspected his ankle. "Holy shit, it's swelling up. It might be sprained."

"D-delicate bones." Quirrell gasped, his face going paler than usual.

"Oh, you moron, come on. Stand up."

"No, stop, really..." Quirrell wheezed as Jamie attempted to lift him. "It - hurts!"

"Shit." Jamie breathed. "Uh, let me...You might need to go to hospital if it's broken. Is that okay?"

"You - said - no hospital."

"This is different, this is physical. I'm sure you'll be absolutely fine, but we should get it looked at it. Then we'll clean this fucking room, it's a hazard."

"F-fine, yeah, anything." Quirrell groaned, closing his eyes, in absolute agony.

"It's those damn books of yours, they're huge. No wonder you're hurt." Jamie muttered as he helped him back downstairs. "Let's get you in the car..."

It took a few hours of waiting, a few discussions between Jamie and the doctor, and Quirrell was diagnosed with a sprained ankle which had been all wrapped up. He even had his own set of crutches and painkillers.

"D-does this mean I'm g-gonna get pampered for - for weeks?" He asked with a dumb smile as Jamie drove them back to the house. Clearly the drugs they'd given him were having an effect. "'C-cause that's fiiine."

"Quirinus, you are absolutely..." Jamie began, before laughing. "You're a dick. Have I told you that?"

"Uh-huh, and right b-back at you." Quirrell smiled, staring out the window. "Thanks for d-driving me."

"Of course." He took a few moments., before slowly saying, "Hey, Quirinus, I saw someone today. A weird looking guy, kinda looked like a snake. He said he knew you. Quirinus?"

But Quirrell had already fallen asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

5

"Roses are so p-pretty. The only t-trouble are these th-thorns, but you can g-get 'em off easily, so it's not too – too bad." Quirrell observed the red rose in his hand, careful not to prick himself.

He and Jamie were sitting in the back garden, even though Quirrell's leg was carefully stretched out in front of him so he didn't irritate his bandaged ankle. It was a sunny enough day, but Quirrell was still bundled up in multiple layers.

"Mm." Was Jamie's only response.

"They d-die so fast, too. But that's the s-same for all f-flowers, I guess. But I p-plant 'em, then they're all w-withered within two – two weeks." Quirrell commented as he gestured to all the flowers around them. "I like d-daffodils, they're my f-favourite. What about y-you?"

Jamie frowned slightly. "I don't know. They're kind of all the same."

"Oh." Quirrell hesitated. "W-well, that's not t-true, but whatever…"

"They all have petals and leaves and make people sneeze. I don't get the big deal."

"But you w-wouldn't call a d-daffodil or rose the same, w-would you?" Quirrell pointed out, a little disheartened that his boyfriend wasn't as fascinated by the plants as Quirrell was. This was the calmest he'd felt in weeks.

"Guess not. Listen, Quirinus, I need to talk to you."

"O-okay." Quirrell replied, passing him over the rose with a smile. "You – you want it?"

"No thanks. Look, it's about you finding a job."

Quirrell had awkwardly moved the rose back, placing it in his lap, but his face fell. "My p-parents told me to t-take my time."

"But you're not a fifteen year old kid, are you?"

"No. But y-you're the one who k-keeps telling me how sick I – I am."

"That's true, but all the same. You're not even trying anymore." Jamie huffed. "And I'm the one paying for everything."

"Okay, you-you're not making sense now." Quirrell countered. "I've explained th-that I have m-money, remember? I'm m-more than happy to p-pay for stuff! And b-besides…" He gestured to himself. "Sp-sprained ankle, remember?"

Jamie's expression softened slightly and he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry, sorry. I'm not myself today."

"Y-yeah, I can see that." Quirrell hesitantly leaned in and kissed his cheek. "S-something up?"

"It's just – I have a degree in business, y'know? I studied so hard, and I'm delivering food to lazy middle aged people almost every night."

"I f-feel you." Quirrell sighed miserably. "They t-told me I was the b-brightest professor around and that I was g-gonna do so well. Look at – at me now."

Jamie put an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, don't worry. We'll get back on our feet."

"Y-yeah?"

"Yeah. And now it's time for you to _actually_ get on your feet, because we're going out for coffee." Jamie stood, helping Quirrell up so he could hobble back into the house.

"Then I'll p-pay."

"Seriously, Quirinus, don't worry about it. I'm just being grouchy."

"No, but really." Quirrell said as he got his crutches. "I-I'm paying this t-time." Anything to stop making him feel so damn worthless.

XxX

Voldemort didn't even know why he was still sticking around in this shitty town. He hadn't seen Quirrell ever since bumping into the douche that called himself his boyfriend three weeks ago. What was even the point? Quirrell wouldn't want to see him. He should leave before he screwed everything up.

That's what he kept telling himself, but he couldn't bring himself to actually go. Not yet. Just a little while longer. He ordered himself some cake, just so he wouldn't be so hungry later, and managed to Imperio the man behind the till so he didn't have to pay. It wasn't his fault he had no muggle money, and he'd be really screwed if he couldn't eat or sleep anywhere. Besides, there wasn't any real harm in it, anyway.

Except he was meant to be turning over a new leaf and all that. Voldemort huffed as he sat himself down in the far corner of the café, away from everyone else. All these mundane muggles with their boring lives in this crap town. What did they do all day? From the looks of it, drank coffee and took long walks.

Voldemort moodily opened up the newspaper that had been left on the table. There'd been a bicycle collision in town. Some lame garden show. An interview with some kindergarten teachers. Jeez, this place sucked.

"I'm paying."

"I j-just said _I_ was!"

"There's no need, I told you."

"This is g-getting so annoying, J-Jamie!"

Voldemort's head snapped up, and his eyes widened. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, not now. Not _here_! He swallowed, trying to figure out the best escape route, and then he saw Quirrell properly and things seemed to stop for a moment. Fuck, how long had it been?

He looked as lovely as ever, but undeniably thin and weakened. He was also supporting himself on crutches, and Voldemort had heard him stutter. But he was alive, he was here, and Voldemort was going to fuck everything up. Shit!

"Don't make a scene, Quirinus. Go and sit down." His boyfriend tapped Quirrell's nose before purposely turning away from him. Quirrell glowered and reluctantly made his way over to the nearest table, still thankfully out of Voldemort's sight.

Voldemort attempted to keep his eyes on the newspaper, but his gaze would always flicker up to the back of Quirrell. Why was he wearing so many clothes? He must be burning up in this heat. God, Voldemort had missed him so much. Maybe if he just…

"Alright, here's your coffee…" The boyfriend was back, handing over Quirrell's drink, but the other man simply huffed. "Don't go all sulky on me. C'mon."

"You sn-snap at me for not b-buying anything, then d-dismiss me when I – I offer?"

"Oh, you _are_ sulky." The boyfriend smirked, taking a seat next to him, and pulling him in for a kiss.

Voldemort almost choked on the bite he'd just taken, and forced himself to look away, even though it'd been too late.

"St-stop iiit." Quirrell whined, attempting to push him, but he was beginning to giggle. And then they kissed again. And again. Voldemort felt like he was being punched in the face each time. Time to go. This whole thing had been a huge disaster. Who had he been kidding, thinking Quirrell had missed him and would be glad to see him?

"Such a shame your parents are finally out for the whole day on Wednesday, but I'm at work." Quirrell's boyfriend then said suggestively, "maybe I could get someone to do my shift and I could come over..."

Quirrell instantly shoved him back. "I t-told you, no. I'm not…d-doing that w-with you any t-time soon."

Voldemort saw the smile fall slightly, but the guy managed to compose himself. "Right. Yeah. And like I said, I'll wait, whatever. But anyway, something else is going on Wednesday next week, isn't it?"

"N-no."

"Come on, Quirinus…"

"I d-don't like b-birthdays."

"You're turning twenty four, this is good! And it deserves celebrating. So I'll pick you up at eight once I've finished work?"

Quirrell sighed. "I d-don't eat."

"Then maybe you should start." The boyfriend replied, as if it was the easiest thing. "Now, are you gonna drink that coffee?"

Something clicked in Voldemort's mind, and he dared himself to think it through. Quirrell would be alone all day on Wednesday? On his birthday of all days? Maybe this was Voldemort's chance to finally let him know that he was still around. That could totally count as a birthday surprise, seeing as Quirrell's birthday last year had been so shitty, plotting the revenge plan. He could do this. If he followed these two home…

"I have a present for you. Hey, now you're excited, right?"

Quirrell took his time. "I like p-presents." He began slowly. "I d-didn't get any last y-year."

Fuck, that stung. Voldemort had to get out of there, fast. He pulled his hood up, awkwardly standing from the table and making his way towards the door, keeping his head turned from Quirrell's table. Part of him actually wanted to be caught, just to see Quirrell's reaction, but the wiser part of him encouraged him to wait a few more days.

He successfully managed to escape unnoticed, and took a few moments to get his breath back and his head together. Jeez, that had been a shock. _Quirrell_…

If he just hung around until they left, he could see the general direction they were heading, and then he might go through with his dumbass plan. But not yet.

Wednesday. He'd wait until Wednesday.

**A.N. This really wasn't my best. I'd written practically all the following scenes already, just not the build-up. So bleh. **

**Please review (:**


	6. Chapter 6

**Super long chapter, but an important reunion. **

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

_The steady sound continues, and Quirrell hears the sound of his shallow breathing. The room is white and serene, and there's nothing but him and the beeping noise. He's lying in some bed. It's comfortable. _

_Beep. Beep. The noise suddenly picks up hazardously and it's instantly loud and chaotic around him. He doesn't have time to get irritated at them for ruining the quiet, because hands are pressing against his chest, and the beeping continues. His eyes have closed without him even meaning them to. _

_"Quirinus, stay with us now. Stay with us."_

_The rough thumping on his chest hurts but he can't protest, because his mouth is covered with an oxygen mask. It's soon ripped off and then something else is being forced in his mouth. _

_"We're losing him."_

_He can hear his mother screaming. The doctors are talking quickly to one another, still thumping at his chest. His body jolts as electric shocks go through him, and then it happens again. Can they leave him alone now? Is his mother still here? _

_"Quirinus?"_

_Yes. He tries to say it but it's like there's no more air in his lungs. _

_"Hang on, okay? You'll be alright."_

_This doctor sounds nice. Quirrell hopes he'll get the kiss of life sometime soon. Is that what's happening? He's dying?_

_"There's still a heartbeat," A nurse comments. _

_"I know, but he's in a bad way. He might not be strong enough. Maybe we should just let him go."_

_No. Please. _

_"It might be the most humane thing to do." _

_Maybe it is. This way he can see Voldemort..._

_"You're right. It's time to let him go." _

_The beeping dims until it's just a constant drone. Just droning and droning and... _

Quirrell jolted awake, panting loudly and desperately running his hands over his arms and chest. No wires or drips attached to him. No failing heart. He was alive and today was his 24th birthday.

He cried for a little while, aimlessly staring up at the ceiling as he recalled his nightmare, not even sure of how much was true. He had been in hospital after Azkaban, for a number of weeks, and apparently he'd only just pulled through. But had doctors been keen to pull the plug on him so quickly? Bastards.

He managed to shake himself out of it, wiping his eyes as he grudgingly got up, but he couldn't bring himself to get changed out of his pyjamas as he shuffled over on his bandaged ankle to his closet. What did it matter, he wouldn't be leaving the house until later. Might as well be as lazy as he could until then. It was his birthday, after all.

Speaking of which, he hoped he had presents.

"S-sweaters, wow, thanks." He responded to his parents with what he hoped was a genuine-looking smile half an hour later. "I, uh, I n-needed 'em."

"There's more. Here's my present." Jamie handed him over a rectangular package and Quirrell's face instantly brightened.

"B-book?"

"Maybe."

"That's m-more like it..." He murmured as he ripped the paper off, before glancing up at his parents. "I l-love the sweaters."

Once the wrapping paper was off, Quirrell stared at the book in his hands. "Wow, it's..."

"Something other than romance. I'm introducing you to the genre of detective mysteries."

"Th-that's...lovely..." Quirrell attempted as his eyes scanned the back of the book. "Oh, a d-dead body f-found in an alleyway and a m-murderer at large. Gosh, th-thanks."

"You don't like it?"

"N-no, no, I'm sure it...it l-looks, uh, fun." Quirrell tried his best not to look disgusted. "A p-perfect start to a b-birthday."

"Alright, Quirinus, if you don't like it, just give it here so I can get my money back."

Quirrell noticed his mother give Jamie a not-so-discreet glare, and he felt almost grateful. So he got on her nerves too. "Nono, r-really. I appreciate it. Th-thanks."

"Then maybe respond with a little less sarcasm."

"Alright, give him a break." His mother retorted. "You know what he likes to read. And a story about a psychotic murderer really isn't exactly something that he would be into, with very good reason considering -"

"O-okay!" Quirrell interrupted before she said too much. "Th-thanks, everyone. N-not to sound rude, but - but when are you all l-leaving?"

"We were thinking about that." His father replied. "And we're cancelling."

Quirrell's face fell. "Wait -"

"We're postponing our trip out to tomorrow. Seeing as it's your birthday."

"Nah, c'mon, r-really. You d-don't have to..."

"Of course we do." His mother told him. "But we are going out for just an hour or two, to get some things for tonight. Then you have us all day."

"But I'm still at work until late." Jamie added, giving him a small kiss. "Sorry. But I promise I'm taking you out when I'm back."

"Th-that's okay..." Quirrell sighed, relieved he'd at least have a few hours by himself.

"Okay, I need to go, then." Jamie replied, standing from the couch. "Don't want to be late. Happy birthday, babe."

"Mmhm..." Quirrell hummed as he bundled up his presents. "Thanks e-everyone. So, see you all l-later."

"Give us a chance." His father huffed a small laugh, but did stand up to get his coat. "We'll be home in two hours, tops. Stay out of trouble."

Quirrell smiled back. "I'm d-doing nothing but watch c-crap TV. Trouble's g-gonna have to wait."

XxX

Alright, this was it. There was absolutely no backing out of this. Voldemort swallowed, his hood up just in case Quirrell really wasn't alone in the house – there was no car or anything in the driveway, but better safe than sorry - and took another few moments before knocking on the door.

There was no answer, which really didn't do Voldemort's nerves a favour, and he inhaled shakily before trying again. He then heard a noise from inside the house, and soon the door was shoved open to reveal Quirrell at long last, wearing oversized pyjamas and supporting himself on one of the crutches.

"Mm?" He asked bleakly. "C-can I help y-you?"

God. He still looked beautiful, but he was clearly going through some major struggles. All because of Voldemort. Okay, make or break time.

He took a deep breath before shoving the hood back and straightening up. "Hey, you."

There was the longest silence, and Quirrell didn't do anything for a moment, except look at him. His expression was still blank, which wasn't exactly promising, and then he turned to go back into the house.

"Hey, hold on! Where're you going?" Voldemort laughed nervously as he followed him indoors, closing the door behind him. "I know, I know it must be a total shock, but...Ow! Quirrell! Quit it!" Voldemort then yelped as Quirrell began whacking him with his crutch.

"You - bastard!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, just -"

"M-months! Fucking months of th-thinking you were d-dead!" Quirrell yelled furiously, only stopping his attack when he was too out of breath to continue. He leant against the counter, panting uselessly. "And n-now you come to my d-door like nothing's wrong! Bastard!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Voldemort rubbed at his ribs, wincing. "I...Happy birthday."

Quirrell let out another frustrated yell, raising his crutch again, but Voldemort managed to dodge the blow. "Fuck - you!"

"I brought you a card." Voldemort attempted, ducking as Quirrell began throwing various kitchen items at him. "And - I wondered if you'd like to maybe, I dunno, go out to celebrate -" He dodged a plastic bowl before continuing. "Celebrate both your birthday and the fact I'm not actually dead -"

Quirrell suddenly stopped, like all the energy had been drained from him, and he covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking.

"What happened, man? With your ankle? Shouldn't you be sitting down?" Voldemort hesitantly made his way over, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Here, let me help you." He half-lifted Quirrell over to the armchair, sitting him down and kneeling in front of him. "There we go."

"Oh, I h-hate you..." Quirrell sobbed, covering his face.

"I'm sorry." Voldemort whispered. "Really, I feel awful. I didn't want to interfere in your life anymore, and here I am, screwing it up again."

"Mmhm." Was all Quirrell managed, before he viciously pinched himself, yelping afterwards.

"Hey, don't do that." Voldemort gently rubbed the afflicted area on Quirrell's arm. "It's real. I really am here. It's crazy, huh?"

"I - _I'm_ crazy."

"No you're not. But I heard you weren't doing too great, and...and I'm really sorry, and I know that doesn't make much difference, but I've missed you like hell and..."

"Don't! D-don't you _dare_! Do you - you have any idea - what you've d-done to me?" He slammed his hand against the arm of the chair, his voice rising. "I th-thought you were _dead_! It's b-been months, and you - you show up like you've j-just been on holiday?"

"It was only - I didn't want to ruin your life again -"

"Y-you couldn't have sc-screwed it up any more if you'd t-tried!" Quirrell yelled. "How c-could you leave me l-like that?"

Voldemort faltered. "Well, I didn't think -"

"You n-never think, that's y-your problem! You n-never, _ever_ c-consider other people!"

"No, Quirrell, I do! You were the reason why I did it, I wanted a new start for you!" Voldemort said desperately. Oh God, he'd fucked this up. "I'm so sorry, I really am. Look, I'll leave. I'll leave right now and I won't bother you again."

"No!" Quirrell gripped at Voldemort's shirt. "D-don't ever, ever leave me - again!" He broke down, roughly letting go of him, and covered his face. "N-never!"

Voldemort blinked in surprise. "But I...I thought...It was the right thing to..."

Quirrell practically screamed, and then slumped again, except this time it looked serious. Fuck, what had Voldemort done? "Hey, hey, look at me." He said hurriedly, prising Quirrell's hands away from his face. His eyes looked glassy and unfocused, and his breathing was coming out in short, shallow gasps. "Are you okay? Do you need - y'know, your medicine?"

"Can't -" He wheezed, and his eyes rolled slightly. "B-brea-"

_Shit_. "Okay, stop talking, and look at me. Breathe in, slowly. Count to four as you do it. Then out again. Can you do that?"

A short, shaky nod.

"Awesome. I'll do it with you. Through your nose, then out through your mouth. Just like that, yeah, good man. I used to know this kid when I was in school who panicked a lot, and I saw people calm him down like this. Does this work for you?"

Another nod, and Quirrell seemed to be breathing better. Still gasping a little, but definitely better. "Awesome, you're doing great. Keep going."

"Th-there's - C-calming-" Quirrell wheezed, feebly gesturing to the kitchen. "D-draught - to - help."

"Oh, there is? Yeah, I'm on it. You okay to carry on with your breathing?"

"Y-yeah - think so."

Voldemort nodded, scrambling to his feet and making his way to the kitchen. He found the vial within a few seconds, and hurried back to Quirrell as he opened it. "Alright. Hey, you're doing great."

Quirrell breathed in slowly before replying. "I'm - used to it."

Voldemort swallowed before nodding. "So I heard."

"Y-you - have a lot of - ex-explaining to do."

"I know. And I will. Over a drink? I meant what I said about taking you out."

Quirrell managed a small laugh. "I h-hate your fucking g-guts. I n-need to get d-dressed."

"That's alright. I'll wait."

"F-for me to c-come round, or putting on c-clothes?" Clearly the Calming Draught was having an effect, because Quirrell's body was no longer as tense, and he could talk without strained breathing.

"Both. Hopefully." Voldemort admitted. "Listen, I'm not asking you to forgive me right away. I know I have a lot of explaining and making up to do. So at least...let me start with this drink thing."

Quirrell struggled up, picking the crutch up from the floor. "J-just so you know, my p-parents will be b-back here in an hour or - or so."

Shit. What had happened to those guys leaving Quirrell alone for the whole day? That's what the boyfriend had said. "Oh. Uh, sure. We'll figure something out."

Quirrell shrugged. "G-give me five minutes."

XxX

This drink idea was actually turning out to be one of the most awkward things Voldemort had ever done, minus the whole back of the head thing. Because Quirrell hadn't said a word since they'd arrived. He was sulking, and it was working, because Voldemort kind of wanted to cry.

"They have whiskey. Not the good stuff, not Firewhiskey, but still not..." Voldemort trailed off as Quirrell narrowed his eyes at him, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "Alright, maybe not." He murmured, hastily looking back at his menu. "Well, you pick something. It's your birthday."

Quirrell just huffed and didn't respond. Voldemort wondered how much longer the silent treatment would last. Knowing Quirrell, probably not that much longer.

"Okay, guess not. Oh! How about one of these champagne bottles, go a little crazy."

"Oh, sure." Quirrell finally replied icily. "I'm p-paying, right?"

"Uh." Voldemort coughed a little. "Well, no, that'd be dumb. I'm thinking more of a loan, y'know, until I get some muggle money. 'Cause can you imagine me paying in galleons or whatever in this town? They'd think I was crazy, right?" He laughed, trying to look away from the intensity of Quirrell's glare.

The young man started to laugh too, except in an extremely mocking way. "Y-you're a funny guy, huh?"

"Um..."

"F-fucking hilarious, in - in fact."

"Now, Quirrell - whoa, okay, I'm sorry!" He added hastily as Quirrell reached down to lift one of his crutches from the floor. "Look, I get why you're mad at me, I totally do. But can't you see how desperate I am to try and make things right?"

"Y-you want me to b-buy champagne for my own b-birthday!"

"It was only a suggestion! Just to make you talk to me!" He raised his hands in defence. "Hey, it worked!"

"D-don't bother." Quirrell shakily stood, clutching the table for support. "Jamie's already b-bought champagne. W-with his own m-money."

Voldemort scowled. "What an asshole."

"Y-yeah, the nerve! Buying me st-stuff on my b-birthday!" Quirrell shook his head, before blushing. "And I'm on - on anti-depressants, you idiot. I'm n-not really allowed to d-drink."

Again, Voldemort probably would've felt better if Quirrell just punched him in the face. "Oh, I...I'm sorry, man, why didn't you say?" He managed pathetically. "Doesn't have to be alcohol. Hell, it's early in the day, it's not really time for booze anyway..."

"Y-yeah. 'Hi, n-nice to see you a-again. I need to t-take drugs every day to k-keep myself vaguely s-sane now, how've you b-been?'" Quirrell scoffed, before gesturing. "Can you p-pass me my..."

Voldemort sighed, bending down to pass Quirrell up his crutches. "Please, man. Please can we just talk properly? I'm as poor as fuck. Believe me, if I had muggle money I'd buy you all sorts. Anything you want! We could go anywhere."

"We?" Quirrell repeated quietly.

"Yeah, man. You and me. Where'd you wanna go, the two of us?"

"Um..." Quirrell's blush deepened and he faltered. "I ac-actually...I have a h-house."

"You do?"

"Y-yeah, but...muggle one. It's really p-pretty, though."

Voldemort grinned, and helped him sit again when it became clear Quirrell wasn't going anywhere. "I bet it is."

"I w-wanted to go th-there, but..." He hesitated, awkwardly twisting his fingers. "I'm - not well enough. To - to live alone. So I'm st-stuck here." He bit his lip. "That's w-where we'd go."

"Hey, sounds awesome to me." Voldemort replied truthfully. "Maybe one day, huh?"

Quirrell looked at him and shook his head. "Th-things are different, V-Voldemort. B-between us two."

"That's..."

"I'm...I'm really s-sick. I can't eat, y'know? Or - or sleep. Or do any-anything really." He gestured helplessly. "I'm not the s-same."

"Bullshit. I mean, yeah, I get you're not well, but you're still you." Voldemort replied eagerly, taking one of Quirrell's hands. "The same Quirrell who's my best friend. We...We are still friends, right?"

Quirrell swallowed. "I d-don't...You hurt me. A - a lot."

"I'll make it all up to you. I mean it. And I really am so, so sorry."

"Y-yeah, you keep s-saying that, but it's not undoing e-everything that's happened." Quirrell retorted quietly. "I'm sure y-you are sorry. But I'm a f-fucking mess."

"Well, I...I wouldn't call you a mess..."'

"No?" Quirrell challenged. "T-take a good look. I-I'm ruined. No job, no h-house of my own, I c-can't even use a k-kitchen knife without asking my d-damn parents for it, my wand's b-been taken off me, and I have n-nightmares every fucking n-night despite taking a ton of d-drugs."

Voldemort swallowed, awkwardly shifting in his seat. "Oh, Quirrell..."

"And I st-stopped taking 'em. The antidepressants." Quirrell continued, "Ended up w-with me b-barricading myself indoors for hours. I'm b-broken either way, on m-meds or not." He reached down for his crutches again. "I'm g-going home, and you - you should do the same. It's f-for the best."

"Don't say that." Voldemort said hurriedly, his voice catching slightly. "You don't mean that, Quirrell. Besides, I - I don't really have a home."

"Th-that's not my problem."

"Why're you being so cold?"

"'C-cause I have to - to be." Quirrell replied. "Az-Azkaban makes you that w-way. And I th-thought you were dead for - for so long now. No wonder I've t-toughened up."

"Quirrell, please. Please give me a chance to sort stuff out. I know I've made a huge mess of this, believe me, but..." No. He couldn't leave. Not again. "Quirrell, I've missed you like crazy. It was damn near killing me."

Quirrell stood up, but looked at him for a moment. "My p-parents are out all - all day tomorrow. And J-Jamie's at work. Come o-over to the house."

Voldemort blinked back at him, unable to believe it. "Really?"

"Y-yeah. You can shower, and t-take some c-clothes or whatever. We'll h-have the whole day."

"Squirrel, you're really - you're the absolute best." Voldemort grinned widely, standing up too. "Hey, we can talk properly there, right? And I'll bring you stuff! Like...like, I don't know, what do you want?"

Quirrell managed a tiny smile. "J-just bring yourself. Th-that's what I w-want."

"Consider it done." Voldemort replied, making a mental note to pick up some flowers or something on the way. Or would that be too over the top? Whatever, he didn't care. "So, uh, what time?"

"9 AM. Now I'm g-gonna get out of h-here before I change my m-mind or wake up." Quirrell said, already awkwardly moving from the table.

"You're awake, Quirrell." Voldemort told him. "And tomorrow's gonna prove it."

Quirrell shrugged in a way that told Voldemort he'd dreamed about something like this a lot, which only made him feel a small sting in his stomach. "O-okay, then. You b-better show up."

XxX

Second time lucky, or at least Voldemort hoped so. This time he was determined to make things right. He'd even picked up flowers on the way, she admittedly probably was way too over the top, but this was Quirrell. He loved all that. And it would hopefully soften him up so he wouldn't yell too much at him again.

There was a scuffle and then the sound of the door unlocking. Quirrell soon hesitantly looked out, and then grinned, and it was like seeing the damn sun. He was actually happy to see Voldemort this time?

"It's r-real! I d-didn't dream it or - or make it up again!" Quirrell beamed, before eagerly tugging Voldemort inside. "E-everyone's gone. It's j-just us. Are those f-flowers?"

"Hey, Quirrell." Voldemort breathed, unable to stop grinning himself, even though he felt a sting at Quirrell's words. Again? He'd been thinking of Voldemort for all this time? "Oh, um, yeah. I got 'em for you."

"D-did you pick 'em f-from Mrs. Jones down the st-street?"

"Uh…" Voldemort cleared his throat. "I don't know, it was…a garden…"

"These are her d-daffodils."

"Oh." Voldemort awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, sorry. Figures you'd be able to tell something like that."

Quirrell then laughed and took the flowers from Voldemort's hand. "Y'know, d-daffodils are my f-favourite. Thank you. The g-gesture is lovely."

Voldemort grinned in relief as Quirrell placed them in the empty vase on the coffee table. "No problem. So…You look...really nice. Better than yesterday. Not that you looked bad yesterday, duh, but -"

"Th-thanks. I t-took a shower and get d-dressed and everything!"

Voldemort laughed, until he realised Quirrell was totally serious and genuinely proud of himself, and he immediately stopped. "Oh, sorry, I -"

"Y-yeah, when I say it l-like that it sounds so p-pathetic, doesn't - doesn't it?" Quirrell responded quietly, and Voldemort could've killed himself for ruining Quirrell's good mood in a matter of seconds.

"No, man, not at all. I'm sorry. I really am. And you do look lovely."

"It - it's the small victories." Quirrell continued. "I m-managed to eat this m-morning too. Is that f-funny?"

"Oh, Squirrel, I'm sorry. Hey, come here." Voldemort carefully approached him and slowly opened his arms. "We didn't get to do a clichéd reunion hug yesterday, did we?"

"N-not really..." Quirrell replied slowly, looking a little nervous, "You - you want to hug me?"

"Yeah. If it's cool with you."

"The D-dark Lord wants to h-hug me."

"I'm not a Dark Lord anymore, remember? So this is absolutely fine. Unless you don't want to."

"N-no, wait, I -" Quirrell began as Voldemort lowered his arms. "I do want. P-please."

Voldemort laughed slightly. "Alright, come over here. If you even can with that ankle of yours."

"It's b-basically healed. The b-bandage is coming off in two d-days." Quirrell replied before biting his lip and nodding, hesitantly taking a few steps forward. And then Voldemort's arms were wrapped around him and it was the nicest and safest feeling in the world. He slowly brought his own arms around Voldemort and held him as tight as he could, ultimately burying his face in his neck.

Voldemort breathed out slowly, closing his eyes. "You good? Do you still hate me?"

"Y-yes." Quirrell replied as he squeezed him tight. "So much."

Voldemort managed a smile. "Not even warming a little bit?"

"N-nope." Quirrell's hands were now in Voldemort's hair, which felt really good for some reason. "Not - one b-bit."

"That's a shame. I'm hoping it'll be a little better when we talk things over." Voldemort breathed back as he moved a hand to Quirrell's neck. "I've missed you so much, Squirrel."

"D-don't." Quirrell's voice cracked a little as he reluctantly drew back. "Don't."

"It's true though."

Quirrell bit his lip fiercely again. "O-okay, sit." He gestured to the couch. "You go f-first. Where the f-fuck have you been and how're y-you even here? All your H-Horcrux's are gone!"

Voldemort swallowed as he took a seat, shrugging feebly. "Dude, I don't know either. I mean, I should be dead. Potter killed me at Hogwarts. It hurt like a bitch, but...but then I woke up."

"You j-just 'woke up'?"

"It hurt so bad. I couldn't move for ages. I hallucinated a little bit before -"

"P-poor baby." Quirrell pouted, and Voldemort rubbed his cheek, already knowing what was coming, but still feeling his heart fall. "You w-wanna talk hallucinations?"

"No. I mean, I'm aware that things have undoubtedly been way worse for you. I'm just giving you my side of the story." He replied, trying not to sound grouchy. He then raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry. But honestly, the short of it is that I woke up. I don't know how. I hallucinated you, actually."

Quirrell's expression changed, and he sat down in the armchair. "F-funny, I hallucinated you too. E-every day."

Voldemort looked at him, unsure how to respond. "You...You did?"

"Yeah, b-being double-crossed did a n-number on my m-mental health, but then again, being s-surrounded by dementors d-didn't help either."

"I got you out." Voldemort blurted. "When I woke up. I knew I had to help you, so I made it obvious you were innocent, and then I -"

Quirrell began to laugh. "Oh. So th-that's what did it." He tilted his head as he observed him. "Well, thanks! I mean, if you h-hadn't put me th-there in the first -"

"Please!" Voldemort stood up desperately. "You wanted me to talk, and I'm talking! I'm trying to explain, and you're the one who's not even listening, so why don't you -" He cut himself off abruptly at the terrified expression on Quirrell's face, and immediately took a step back. "Sorry. Sorry, Quirrell, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that, I swear. You're right to talk to me like that."

"I - I think you should g-get out of my house now." Quirrell whispered, shakily getting to his feet.

"I got out of Hogwarts, I made them see you were innocent," Voldemort backtracked, sitting himself down again and gesturing for Quirrell to do the same. "And I swear, you were my primary thought in all this, man. I figured if I got you out, you could carry on with -"

"W-would you like some w-water?" Quirrell asked suddenly.

"Uh." Voldemort blinked. "If it's not too much trouble. I mean, I can get it."

Quirrell was already up again, making his way to the kitchen. He returned soon with a glass of water for Voldemort and a bottle of beer for himself.

"Hey, you didn't offer beer." Voldemort laughed a little, before frowning. "Uh, dude, what did you say about...y'know, not drinking with your pills..."

"Y-you sound like my b-boyfriend Jamie." Quirrell snapped as he handed him his glass, before returning to his armchair.

"Ugh, never say that again." Voldemort muttered, which rewarded him a little giggle from the other man. And damn it sounded adorable. "Right. Well, if you think it's okay, I'm hardly gonna tell you not to drink it. Just one can't hurt, right?"

"It'll get me th-through this conversation." Came the reply, as Quirrell took a swig from the bottle. "So I d-don't break down or any-anything embarrassing. Okay, c-carry on."

"Uh." Voldemort nodded hesitantly. "Right. So as I was saying, I didn't want to interfere in your life. I'd already done enough damage. And I was gonna stay away, but...but I missed you. I needed to see how you were. So, I..." He grimaced. "Oh, this sounds awful..."

"Ah, go on."

"Well, I started travelling around all these Wizarding villages and towns in case you were staying in 'em -"

"Oh!" Quirrell began to laugh again. "Th-that was you! That's so - so weird, 'cause I was w-wondering what...It was in the P-prophet. Not that I read that c-crap anymore, my Mom d-does...Wow."

Voldemort grinned sheepishly. "But you were a no-show, obviously. Kinda to be expected. So I didn't know how else to find you so I...I..." He dropped his head and murmured to his chest. "_Lookedthroughyourdreamsalittlebit_."

There was the longest silence, and then Quirrell hummed a little. "Oh?"

"When I say your dreams, I mean...It was a way to see where you were living...I wasn't, like, rooting through your head or..."

"No? S-sounds like it." Quirrell replied mock-innocently.

"Really, it wasn't..." Voldemort attempted. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But it brought me to this village, and then I...bumped into your boyfriend..."

Quirrell's eyes widened, clearly too surprised to be pissed for now. "Hooold up. You m-met Jamie?"

Even the name pissed Voldemort off. "Yeah. Total coincidence, I just bumped into him and I was gonna ask about you but then his phone rang and...Uh, well, you were found. Kind of."

Quirrell cringed in embarrassment. "F-fuck! Oh no, what -"

"It's okay. It was nothing bad or anything. Even if it had been it's not like it mattered. I just wanted to see you."

"J-Jamie never even m-mentioned..."

"No, I told him not to." Voldemort admitted sheepishly. "So I hung around a little bit, and then I saw you two in the cafe the other day and, uh, overheard you'd be alone all day on your birthday, and thought, hey. That's not fair. So I showed up."

Quirrell observed him through slightly narrowed eyes. "Damn."

"Yeah. It's a really pathetic and dumb story, but that's basically it. So, that's enough about me." Voldemort finished awkwardly, scratching his cheek. "I want to talk about you. And how you've been. How you ended up here."

Quirrell shrugged. "It's...I c-can't remember all of - of it. It's sorta a b-blur. I mean, w-when I was released, I was st-stuck on the island, and I had to D-Disapparated somewhere. So I c-came back h-here, where I grew up. I kn-knew my parents could h-help me."

"And...what happened?"

"I j-just hammered on the d-door 'til they opened it. I was in a b-bad way. Apparently I c-couldn't really t-talk, I was just crying. They t-took me to hospital so I c-could get checked over. I th-think I was there a few w-weeks. I was m-malnourished and stuff. There w-were all these wires in - in me." He gestured weakly.

Voldemort swallowed, nodding stiffly. "Yeah."

"They h-hurt. It was so...so unreal, though. I was so sick that I c-can't really remember p-properly. It d-doesn't seem real, but then a lot of- of things don't. Apparently they n-nearly lost me, but I d-dunno. They m-might just -"

"Stop, Quirrell, please." Voldemort gasped out, covering his mouth. "Just - for a minute."

Quirrell looked at him in bewilderment. "Are you f-feeling sick?"

"Sorry, sorry, oh God." Voldemort hastily took a sip of the water. "I'm so sorry. How did - I mean, when you got back from the hospital, was it better?"

"Um..." Quirrell shrugged again. "Well, I was d-diagnosed with severe depression and an-anxiety, so..."

"But, I mean - after." Voldemort practically wheezed. "Your boyfriend! Right?"

"J-Jamie? He's nice. But s-sometimes he..." He faltered. "Well, sometimes he's a j-jerk. Kinda c-controlling."

Voldemort didn't like the sound of that. "What? Controlling?"

"N-nothing serious or anything. I j-just don't really kn-know where I stand with him. He t-treats me like I'm the g-greatest one minute, and th-then..." Quirrell trailed off. "I irritate him. It's the s-same for everyone, th-though. I'm too m-much work."

Voldemort clenched his free fist. "He's said that to you?"

"S-sometimes. But it's t-true."

"No one should say that. As if - he's talking like dating you is a chore. And it's not, it's a privilege." Voldemort snapped. "Why are you with him?"

Quirrell blinked at him in bewilderment. "I...Like him? He's s-safe. I f-feel safer with him."

"Safe?" Voldemort echoed, scoffing slightly. "Alright. Fair enough."

"Yeah, safe. He p-protects me. He drove me to h-hospital for this an-ankle." Quirrell gestured. "It was so d-dumb, I tripped over a b-book, of all things…"

"Probably 'cause your room is a mess." Voldemort said before he could stop himself, and they looked at each other for a moment, before Quirrell grinned.

"Hey, top m-marks, man. Yeah. But it's all c-clean now."

"No way."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't buy it." Voldemort replied with a smile. "So, you've been here since your release?"

Quirrell nodded. "A-against my will. I t-tried for jobs, but I d-didn't get any, and now I've g-given up. No motivation. N-nothing. Not even my – my wand." At that, his eyes brightened. "You h-have yours?"

"My wand? Yeah." Voldemort tugged it out from his waistband, handing it over. "Been my only way of getting food and whatever."

Quirrell held it carefully, a wide grin on his face, before he frowned. "Yeah, wh-what're you doing for money and st-stuff?"

"Meh." Voldemort shrugged, not exactly wanting to tell Quirrell about him having to use the Imperious Curse a lot. "I'm getting by."

Quirrell put the wand down, getting to his feet. "Okay, g-gimme a minute." He told him, before going back to the kitchen and rummaging around for something. He returned shortly, presenting Voldemort with a credit card. "I'm l-lending you this."

"Please tell me this isn't yours, Quirrell." Voldemort replied sternly. "I told you. I'm getting by."

"It's f-fine. They never let me p-pay for anything any-anyway. You can b-borrow it, on one condition." Quirrell took a deep breath. "You k-keep visiting me. We still k-keep in touch."

"That's not a condition. That's an honour." Voldemort replied truthfully. "I was planning on it."

"You p-promise? 'Cause there's always the ch-chance you'll run off with my b-bank card."

"I promise."

"You p-promise a lot of things."

Oh, that hurt. Voldemort swallowed before nodding. "And I still intend to carry them out. Once that ankle's healed, we'll go rollerblading."

"You – you actually remembered." Quirrell laughed slightly. "I c-can't be dreaming. This is too n-nice for it to be a d-dream. And the d-dementors couldn't have known a-about that."

Voldemort paused. "Whoa, slow down. What?"

"The – the dementors." Quirrell repeated. "They g-gave me so many fake m-memories, just to suck 'em out of - of me hours later." He then glanced around. "P-people say they're nowhere n-near me now. But how c-can I be sure after th-that, huh? How?"

Voldemort shook his head weakly. "Quirrell…" He then looked at the credit card. "I can't accept this."

"Y-yes you can. There's a hotel n-nearby. You can use th-this, stay there, and c-come visit me." Quirrell smiled expectantly. "I'm h-here by myself a lot of the t-time. We can st-start over."

"Easy as that?"

"No. I'm st-still pretty pissed. But I've been p-pining for months, and now y-you're here, I don't want you to l-leave me again. Not again, p-please."

Voldemort shook his head as he reluctantly took the card from Quirrell's hand. "Never. I swear to you, I'll never leave again."

Quirrell nodded. "G-good. Go take a sh-shower, the bathroom's up-upstairs. I'm not g-going anywhere."


End file.
